


Tipping The Kinsey Scale

by foolishgames



Category: High School Musical (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-11
Updated: 2012-08-11
Packaged: 2017-11-11 21:58:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/483320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foolishgames/pseuds/foolishgames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chad is straight. No, really. Ryan is not straight, and this doesn’t bother Chad at all. No, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tipping The Kinsey Scale

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on livejournal July 2008. Gift for toasty_fresh on Swingathon.

It didn’t take long for Chad to figure out that Ryan made the other guys on the team uncomfortable.

It wasn’t like anybody said anything. Everybody was perfectly friendly and polite when Ryan showed up to post-game pizza nights or video afternoons on Sundays. Nobody had a problem with him being there; or if they did, they never voiced it. And Ryan – well, he just looked so flat-out stunned to be included that Chad was pretty sure he wouldn’t notice any kind of social discomfort unless the team started shrieking “Shun! Shun the non-believer!” like in that stupid video Jason wouldn’t stop quoting. 

So, it was fine. The team was a little uneasy with the intrusion of somebody way outside their safe little testosterone-drenched world, but they’d deal. Ryan was fine with it, Chad was fine with it, everyone was fine with it. It was totally fine.  
Except for the way conversations Chad hadn’t been listening to sometimes went suddenly quiet when Ryan came into the room. Or the way nobody seemed to quite want to touch Ryan, even in the happy, messy group pile-ups that inevitably happened when you got a bunch of teenage boys together in a room with a lot of cushions. Or the slightly uncomfortable eye contact arguments just out of Ryan’s line of sight of “you sit next to him,” “no, you sit next to him.”

It was annoying, was what it was.

And it wasn’t like Chad didn’t know why. Everybody knew Ryan was gay. The sky was blue, the grass was green, Troy and Gabriella were nauseatingly cute, Ryan was flamboyantly, flamingly homosexual.

“Actually,” said Ryan. “I’m camp. Some very macho guys are gay; some very effeminate guys are straight. It’s not the same thing.” He wrinkled his nose at himself in the mirror stuck to his locker door.

Chad stared. “You mean you’re not gay?” he asked, in a tone that suggested such a thing would turn his entire world upside down.

“As a daisy,” said Ryan. “But it’s not because I like wearing pink. And I don’t wear pink because I’m gay.” He shut his locker and flashed a bright smile at Chad.

“Then why?” asked Chad, not quite following his logic.

“Because sometimes I like to feel pretty,” Ryan informed him, and danced off down the corridor, grabbing Martha for an impromptu waltz and singing to himself.

Okay, so sometimes Ryan freaked Chad out a little too.

~

In the third week of freshman year, Chad had joined the basketball team. He only knew Troy at that time – Zeke was still the short kid with the babyish face, Jason the nervous one, Matt the guy with the embarrassing skin problem – but tryouts went well; there was something there, he had good feeling that they could be a team.

After their first after-school practice, the team had stumbled into the locker rooms, laughing, to find a bunch of footballers with a blond kid pinned up against the lockers, crying.

At fourteen, Chad had been too young to really get some of the more complex rules of high school hierarchy, but he knew in his bones that four-on-one was in no way cool, so he’d marched right up to the biggest asshole – a full head taller than himself – called him a douchebag, and demanded that he leave Ryan alone.

He was really glad, reflecting back on it later, that Troy and the guys had backed him up. The brief scuffle, quickly broken up by a coach, had solidified their team into a unit, had rocketed them straight to the top of the social ladder. The football team had never recovered from the expulsion of half their starting line-up, causing many of the school’s better athletes to flock to the now-greener pastures of basketball.

Chad, caught up in the glory of popularity and success, never noticed Ryan’s shy gaze following him adoringly for months afterwards. If he had, it might have caused him to rethink some things.

~

“Come to my birthday party?” Chad plopped himself down next to Ryan in the library.

Ryan blinked at him, caught unawares. “Pardon?”

Chad rolled his eyes. “My birthday party. Friday, week after next. Will you come?”

Ryan’s mouth curved upwards gently. “Will there be a pony?”

“A pony,” said Chad flatly. 

“Or a clown? With balloon animals?”

“Ryan.”

“How about a bouncy castle?”

“I hate you. I’m not talking to you,” Chad told him, getting up to leave.

“If the cake is icecream, I’m in,” Ryan called after him, laughing.

Chad did not have a guest list. He was too cool for guest lists. But if he’d had one, Ryan’s name would be ticked off: RSVP’d, definitely coming. Chad smiled.

~

A guy didn’t turn eighteen every day, Chad figured, or even every year. And though it wasn’t much of a legal milestone – so he could now be prosecuted for murder and sentenced to death, yippee – he wanted to celebrate it big, to have that party before partying got old, with these friends, before they went off to college and everything changed.

“Remember,” said his mother, cheerfully wrestling a screaming four-year-old into the backseat of the van, “any breakages come out of your car fund.”

“Yes, mom,” said Chad dutifully.

“And if the cops get called, don’t think we’re going to bail you out,” said his father. “Your brother had to spend the night in jail with no pants on after that hazing   
incident, and we can’t play favourites.”

“I know, dad,” said Chad, and resisted the urge to look at his watch. The guy with the keg would be here in half an hour, why wouldn’t they just leave already?

Eventually, the van pulled out of the driveway, and Chad waved them off. His parents were taking the younger kids and spending the weekend at his aunt’s place in Santa Fe – six kids in, and Chad the fourth to hit eighteen, and the Danforth parents figured there were some milestones they were better off not witnessing. Chad knew they weren’t buying the “small group of friends” line, but they trusted him not to let things get out of hand, and so long as he had everything cleaned up by the time they got home on Sunday, the pleasant fiction could be maintained on both sides.

As the van disappeared around the corner it was passed by Troy’s beat-up old truck, which pulled up in front of Chad and disgorged more basketball players than it could legally hold.

“Ready to rock the joint?” bellowed Troy in his best ‘pre-game-pep-talk’ yell.  
Chad winced. “Easy, tiger. We got work to do before any rocking happens.”  
Chad did not feel remotely guilty about utilising his friends as hard labour. It was his birthday, after all. They packed up anything valuable or breakable and locked it in his parents’ room, rearranged furniture, moved bicycles and other toys from the back lawn, and when the guy showed up with the keg, moved aside with a kind of respectful, awed silence as it was installed.

Afterwards, Chad fed them lunch, defending the keg by means of a baseball bat kept meaningfully close to hand, and sent them all home.

As he absently tidied his own room, his phone chirped with a message from Ryan.

What time should I book the stripper for?

Chad barked a laugh. My kind of stripper or yours? It’s my birthday, after all.  
He flopped down on the bed, intending to have brief nap in preparation for a long night.

Curses. Foiled again.

~

The music was intrusively loud; the keg was almost tapped out; Troy had mislaid his pants; Chad had gotten birthday kisses from five separate girls. He didn’t know half the people here, and it wasn’t even midnight.

Everything was going perfectly, in other words.

Grabbing another cup full of the quickly dwindling beer, Chad wove his way unsteadily through the crowd of people towards the back door. He staggered out into the cool air, passing a red-faced and partially naked Troy stuttering at an annoyed-looking Gabriella, a guy in a beer hat, and a tangle of limbs and sweat that had to contain at least three people before emerging into the less stuffy but no-less-loud backyard with a sigh of relief.

“Chad!” squealed a voice, and then he had an armful of a girl he was pretty sure was one of the junior cheerleaders, though he was less sure of her name – Brittany, maybe.  
“Hey,” he said, buzzed enough that he was willing to play along. “You having a good time, pretty girl?”

She giggled. “It’s an great party. Are you having a good birthday?”

“Better now you’re here,” Chad replied, sensing further birthday kisses on the horizon.

She simpered happily and gazed up at him adoringly. Chad grinned down at her with his most dashing smile as Zeke wandered past. “Chad, have you seen Troy’s pants?”  
“Jason had ‘em,” said Chad, not looking up. “I think he was heading for the kitchen.”  
Maybe-Brittany ended up dragging Chad down behind the shed for a little quality birthday time, but in the end, getting hot and heavy with a chick whose name he couldn’t even remember was a little too skeevy even for a birthday treat, so he sent her back to the party and escaped into his old tree house.

His dad had built this before he was even born as a fortress for one of Chad’s brothers. It had survived four rambunctious boys, campouts, tea parties, sleepovers, and broken bones, and Chad was pretty sure his brother Brian had lost his virginity up here one summer when their parents refused to let him have a lock on his bedroom door. It wasn’t tall enough to stand up in, but it could easily fit two grown people lying side-by-side, even accounting for the wooden chest that once held water pistols and toy trucks and now held the suspicious remains of some tattered dirty magazines. The sturdy tree house was a fixture of his childhood.

Chad heaved himself over the top of the ladder with more vigour than grace and landed hard on something soft and warm and yielding.

And loud.

“What the fuck?”

“Who? What? Why are you in my tree house?”

Ryan sat up and blinked at him. “Oh. Hey, Chad. Awesome party.”

“Yeah, so awesome you’re hiding in the tree house. Shove over.”

“You’re up here too,” Ryan pointed out, and scooted over. “Weren’t you having fun with Bianca?”

“Bianca! Right. You were watching?” He peered through the darkness, but couldn’t make out Ryan’s face. Even at night, his eyes were shadowed by a hat-brim.

“I could hear you,” said Ryan. “She sounded pretty happy.”

“Or at least enthusiastic,” said Chad. “Any particular reason you’re hiding up here?”

“Any reason you are?” Ryan returned smoothly. “It is your party, after all.”

“And I want all of my guests to have fun.” He nudged Ryan gently. “Are you having fun?”

“Are you drunk?”

“Yes. We’re out of beer, though, so I’m looking for other distractions.”

“Cheerleaders in miniskirts?”

“Six tonight. I’m trying for a round ten.”

“Girls are not around for your carnal gratification, you know.”

“Funny, that’s just what Taylor said right before she hit me with her physics textbook.”

“How is that bruise coming along, by the by?”

“Puke yellow, thank you for asking. Why are you in my tree house?”

Ryan shifted beside him. “I never know what to do at these things. What people expect of me.”

“Drink, flirt, talk. Possibly vomit. Hook up. Whatever floats your boat.”

“Right,” said Ryan. “Hook up with all of those boys who wouldn’t punch me in the head for daring to be queer in their presence.” He sounded a little bitter.

Chad frowned. “Hey. We’re not – you know. Nobody thinks like that here.”

Ryan huffed. “Right. They don’t hate me. They just – don’t like having me around. Because what if, god forbid, I look at them and think the same thoughts they think about girls every single day.” He paused. “I make people uncomfortable.”

“Not me,” said Chad. “Look all you want. I’m completely comfortable.”

Ryan drew a sharp breath. “Exactly how drunk are you?” he asked carefully.

“Pretty fucking wasted,” said Chad, though he wasn’t really, and lay down on the rough floorboards. Hey, stars.

Ryan sat there for a while, his leg pressing against Chad’s arm. “It really doesn’t bother you?” he asked at length.

Chad wobbled his head back and forth. “Ryan. I don’t mind that you’re gay. I don’t mind you thinking I’m hot, because, let’s face it, I am.” He squinted out the window. “Even straight boys think I’m hot. I think Jason has a little crush on me. Maybe he swings in your direction.” He waggled his eyebrows, but the effect was lost in the dark.

“Jason,” said Ryan in a strange, strangled voice. “You think I should hit on Jason.”  
“He won’t punch you, I’m sure of that,” said Chad drowsily. The noise of the party seemed very far away.

“A rousing endorsement,” said Ryan. “Chad, I don’t want Jason.”

“Maybe that kid from the Spanish club – what’s his name, Oscar.”

“Chad,” said Ryan, and then suddenly his view of the stars was gone and Ryan’s face was very, very close. “I hope you meant it about not punching me,” he breathed, warm over Chad’s face, and kissed him.

Chad forgot to move, forgot to be startled, forgot to do anything. Ryan’s mouth was warm and clean, no sour smell of beer, no demanding tongue. Just a press of lips, and Chad reached up and touched Ryan’s shoulder, pushed him gently away.

“Ryan,” he said. “I’m not – I didn’t.”

“I know,” said Ryan miserably. “I’m sorry.” He pulled away, pressing against the wall. “I just. I wanted to do that and I won’t do it again. I’m really sorry.”

Chad sat up, his head spinning. “I’m not gay.”

“I know.” Ryan shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’ll go.” He shuffled awkwardly past Chad and turned around to go down the ladder.

“But,” said Chad, watching him. “Ry, I don’t understand.”

Ryan made a slightly hysterical noise and leaned his forehead against the doorframe. “Never mind, Chad. Just forget it even happened. I’ll see you on Monday.”

And then he was gone, leaving Chad sitting alone in his tree house while the birthday party he had suddenly lost all interest in went on down below.

~

“Awesome party, dude,” groaned Zeke from under a cushion. “A-plus, would party again.”

“Really, though,” added Troy into his coffee mug. “How does a pair of pants just disappear?”

“What I want to know,” said Jason, who was almost criminally chirpy and making toast, “is where you went, dude. We were looking all over for you. Almost ate your cake without you.”

“I was very disappointed, actually,” said Chad, pouring himself some orange juice. “I specifically ordered a naked girl in my cake.”

“You’re the first one of us to turn eighteen,” Troy pointed out. “And I’m pretty sure the places who do that kind of service check IDs a little more carefully than Barry your brother’s beer guy.”

“Very disappointed,” Chad stressed, and opened the freezer to get some ice. “Oh hey, I found your pants,” he said, and lobbed the frozen block at Troy, very nearly concussing him.

“So where did you disappear to?” Jason asked again, to Chad’s distress. “You were gone for like an hour. Did you get lucky or something?”

“Not exactly,” said Chad. “Troy, don’t put your pants in the microwave, they’ll catch fire.”

~

Chad was not homophobic. He wasn’t. He had no problem with Ryan being gay at all, he’d never thought that it was unnatural or wrong – his parents had been very careful to explain it to all of the kids, when Cousin Alice had brought home her girlfriend for Thanksgiving that one time – and it had never bothered him. It was more interesting to him that Ryan had a hidden love for classic rock and was terrible at basketball.

But it turned out there was a whole world of difference between knowing “Ryan is gay”, connecting that to “Ryan wants to have sex with boys”, and actually experiencing “Ryan wants to have sex with me.” 

So, it was awkward.

Monday morning, Ryan showed up for homeroom two seconds before the bell rang and slunk into his chair next to Chad without a word or a glance. As impeccably groomed and dressed as ever, but he looked tired, and didn’t lift his eyes.

Chad forced his eyes front and tried not to think about it, about Ryan, sitting stiffly next to him. Who wanted to kiss him. Who had kissed him. Who might be thinking about kissing him right now, maybe, or other things that he wanted to do to Chad, naked things, and Chad was entirely not comfortable with Ryan thinking possibly naked thoughts about him.

The bell rang. Chad shot out of his seat, intending to dash for the door to avoid any moments. Unfortunately it seemed Ryan had the same idea, and they crashed full-tilt into one another. Chad was forced to reach out and catch Ryan when the smaller boy bounced off his chest and would have landed on the sharp corner of a desk.

He stared at the top of Ryan’s head for a moment, one hand gripping his shoulder, the other fisted in his shirt, shocked by the sudden, discomfiting closeness. He’d resolved to avoid Ryan, and here he was, hanging onto him like a lifeline with their hips pressed hard together. And wow, he really shouldn’t have noticed the hips thing, because before he did it was clumsy and now it was really, really awkward, with a side of uncomfortable and a spicy embarrassment dressing. 

Ryan shot him a mute, pleading look, and Chad realised that he’d allowed the contact to continue perhaps a little past what might be strictly necessary in terms of stopping Ryan getting his ribs broken by unwary school furniture. He released him suddenly and Ryan stumbled, quickly righted himself, and fled.

Chad blinked at the Ryan-shaped smoke outline and hoped really hard that nobody else noticed that exchange, nor the big, pink cloud of embarrassment which seemed to have taken up residence around him.

Troy smacked him on the shoulder, and Chad jumped. “What was all that?” said Troy. He was frowning after Ryan. “Something wrong?”

“N-no,” said Chad. “I guess he had someplace else to be.”

~

And that was how it went for the week.

Chad desperately tried to avoid Ryan – and as far as he could tell, the effort was mutual, because wherever he looked Ryan was scuttling away. But he’d never noticed how many classes they had together – everything except the elective where Ryan did drama and Chad took shop. And worse, the school policy on alphabetical seating put Danforth and Evans right next to each other in all but one class, so Chad’s chances for avoiding this whole situation until it became less horrifying were not looking good.

At least Ryan seemed to be trying to co-operate. They hadn’t exchanged a single word all week, and Ryan barely lifted his eyes from the floor at all. Sadly, this made him much clumsier than usual, and he accidentally bumped into Chad several times while trying to avoid him.

It was the only time he ever looked at Chad, and every time, his expression was almost scared. As if he thought Chad would try and hit him or something, like Chad was one of those guys, like Chad had ever given any indication that he was at all uncomfortable with Ryan being gay.

Except apparently he was. Having gotten full, irrefutable, personal proof that Ryan was as gay as a daisy, Chad had suddenly become unable to even speak to him, and wasn’t that just the kick in the head, because he had never, ever been that guy.

People were starting to notice, too. Ryan didn’t sit with them at lunch anymore, didn’t talk to Chad in class or acknowledge him in the halls or pair up with him in gym class if it was at all possible to avoid it. And while many of the denizens of East High were not the brightest bunch, it was getting kind of difficult to miss the tension.

It wasn’t even like he could tell anybody what he was freaking out over. He’d been so insistent that everybody be nice to Ryan, made sure nobody gave him a hard time over his sexuality, and now he couldn’t really say anything about it without looking like a giant hypocrite.

So, avoidance.

It was working, until final period Friday. They had gym, and Chad was late. He’d lingered after history, to talk to the teacher about the latest assignment, in the hope that the locker rooms would clear out a little before he got there and he wouldn’t have to take off his shirt in front of Ryan.

Just thinking that about Ryan made him feel sick and miserable and guilty. He edged into the locker rooms to find them almost deserted, only a few stragglers, and couldn’t help his relief. Changing quickly, he stuffed his things into a locker and ran for the gym, arriving just in time to watch his classmates, in pairs, settling themselves onto mats around the room.

“Mr Danforth,” said the teacher, squinting, and made a show of noting his tardiness in her big black folder. “We’re doing yoga today.”

Chad wrinkled his nose. “Seriously?”

She glared. “Yes, Mr Danforth. You’ll be working with Mr Evans, he doesn’t have a partner yet.”

Chad’s stomach dropped. Ryan was over by the far wall, on a mat, folding himself in half without any apparent effort, hands wrapped around his ankles. He nodded.

Collecting his mat, he marched over and dropped it beside Ryan. He looked oddly peaceful, with a focused expression and his cheek pressed against his knee, eyes closed.

Chad flopped down on the mat glumly – there was no way he could possibly bend himself like that; Ryan was absurdly flexible. To show willing, he started stretching silently, the basic legs-arms-trunk warmup he did before a game or a practise. 

When he was finished, he looked over to see Ryan watching him silently. Their eyes met, and Ryan blushed and looked away.

Chad swallowed. “So. How does this yoga thing work?”

Several expressions flickered across Ryan’s face, too fast for Chad to decipher. He sat up straighter and shrugged, shoulders moving under the thin fabric of his shirt.   
“It’s actually a deeply spiritual practise in a lot of Buddhist and Hindu religions, to do with balancing your life and your mind and your soul.”

Chad stared at him, and Ryan smiled a little, tentatively. “I mostly do it for my health.” He looked away. “There’s lots of different poses, standing, sitting, lying down. I guess we’ll be doing mostly the easy, beginner ones.” The teacher called for their attention, and Ryan twisted himself around on the mat, facing front. “The important thing is not to force it. It’s not meant to hurt or stress you out, it’s supposed to be relaxing.”

Chad nodded and turned his eyes front as the teacher showed them the first pose she wanted them to do. He heard Ryan sigh and make a disapproving noise, and snuck a glance to see Ryan moving into the same position with a good deal more grace –hands and feet on the floor, bent at the hips. He fumbled to copy him, feeling off-balance and clumsy.

“Downward facing dog,” said Ryan clearly, and then suddenly was kneeling beside him. “Straighten up here,” he said, pressing his fingertips gently between Chad’s shoulders. Chad’s heart thudded sharply in his chest at the touch “And bend more at the hips. How flexible are you? Can you put your heels on the floor?”

Chad was pretty sure he couldn’t, but he tried anyway, and Ryan made a pleased noise. “Good, that’s good. Remember to breathe, Chad, this isn’t an endurance challenge.”

Ryan was right; most of the things they did that class were at best slightly uncomfortable to achieve and not remotely painful to maintain. After about thirty seconds, Chad realised the teacher had no idea what was going on, so he just let Ryan’s quiet voice guide him, the occasional careful touches on his back or shoulders to indicate where he needed to straighten or bend. He kept his eyes closed and his breathing deep and even, as Ryan instructed him, and when the bell rang he opened his eyes, feeling calm and relaxed and kind of – floppy.

Ryan poked him. “Dude.”

Chad blinked. All around him, students were moving to the exit, talking and shoving each other, ready for the weekend. He looked up at the ceiling. “This is weird.”

Ryan huffed. “No kidding.” He was quiet for a minute. “Look, Chad. I wanted to apologise.”

Chad sat up. “You don’t have to.”

Ryan stared at his knees. “I think I do. I shouldn’t have done what I did and I’m really sorry if I made you uncomfortable and I hate how stupid it’s made things.” He looked miserable. “I just want everything to be normal again.”

Chad just stared at him, unsure how to respond. Ryan snuck a sideways glance at him, and then sighed and started to get up. “Look, don’t even worry about it. It’s fine.”

“It’s not,” said Chad sharply, suddenly mad. He got up, picked up his mat and followed Ryan to stack it with the others against the wall. “It’s not fine. You kissed me, and that freaked me out because I didn’t think you – but we’re friends. And I’ve never had a problem with the gay thing before. So there’s a problem here somewhere.”

Ryan looked startled. “Um. Yes?”

“Okay,” said Chad. “I have no idea what to do.”

Ryan frowned. “Are you mad at me?”

“Yes,” said Chad, and then, “No.” He sighed. “I wish you hadn’t kissed me, because it’s made everything complicated when it used to be simple.” He sat down heavily on the stack of mats.

“I’m sorry,” said Ryan. “I wish I hadn’t either.” He sat beside Chad, and they were quiet for a few minutes in the empty gym.

“Is this the part where I say ‘can we still be friends?’” said Chad wryly, at length.

“I don’t know. Can we?” Ryan looked at him, a sad twist to his mouth. “Because if you freak out every time I’m in the room, I don’t see how well that’s going to go.”

“I won’t,” Chad swore. “Well, I’ll try not to. It’s just.”

“What?”

“I can’t help thinking – that you’re, I dunno, looking at me or something. All the time. I mean, I know you’re not, but.”

Ryan put his head in his hands. “Okay. If I promise I’m not checking you out every time you show any skin below the neck, and you promise not to panic and flee every time I get within twenty feet, maybe this will work.”

“I seem to remember you doing a fair bit of fleeing.”

“I am always mindful of the comfort of my friends.”

“You were freaking out as much as I was, weren’t you?” Daring, Chad nudged him gently.

Ryan ducked his head. “Um, possibly more.” He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I thought you might hate me.”

“I don’t,” said Chad immediately. “I don’t hate you. I just didn’t know that you, uh.”

Ryan frowned. “You knew I was gay.”

“I never thought that included me,” said Chad plaintively, and Ryan actually laughed.

“Right, because you’re so special. You should be flattered, Danforth.”

“Because you couldn’t control yourself?”

“Hey, I’ll have you know I am very discerning about who I kiss, Mr Ten-in-one-night.”

“I only made it to six. Well, seven, counting the surprise one.”

“You’re slipping.”

Chad laughed, and something in his chest unclenched and eased – if he and Ryan could banter like this again, all might not be lost. “You distracted me.”

For a moment, Ryan looked disconcertingly sly. Then he shrugged, all innocence. “My bad. Won’t happen again.”

~

Chad couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Things went back mostly to normal. He and Ryan started hanging out again, the team went back to being uncomfortably polite to Ryan when they couldn’t ignore him, and Ryan was careful but not obvious about not touching Chad unless Chad initiated it. And it was okay, except now that the awkwardness had passed and there wasn’t any danger of losing Ryan as a friend, it kept coming to mind at the weirdest times.

He’d be sitting in math class, staring blankly at the diagrams on the board, and would remember the way Ryan had placed his hand flat against Chad’s chest when he kissed him, palm warm through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. 

Or Ryan’s nervous, unhappy face popping into his head when he had his hand up Kerry Mills’ skirt in the backseat of her car, which completely ruined the mood, and left Chad feeling guilty for reasons he couldn’t define.

He couldn’t even go out into the backyard anymore without seeing the treehouse and getting a tense, nervous feeling in his stomach.

The real crux came about ten days after they made up from their fight. East High had a game against West High – not one of those big make-or-break games, just a friendly little winding-down-the-season grudge match. They won, by a narrow margin, and it was all very amicable, shaking hands with the opposing team and hoisting Troy onto their shoulders – mostly habit, at this point.

They headed into the locker rooms to shower up before they went out for the post-game victory pizza. The showers were individual stalls at least, but there were no doors. Chad headed into the stall furthest from the entrance, the one nobody would have any reason to walk by, for a little privacy – the game’s adrenaline always left him punchy and reeling, which usually translated itself into arousal. Hey, he was eighteen, any emotion above “suicidally depressed” could turn into arousal if unchecked. So, a little privacy.

He could hear the other guys talking, yelling to each other as he soaped himself up and set-to with vigour. A large family, limited privacy and many nosy friends had left Chad with masturbatory habits probably best described as ‘efficient’ – start to finish in under three minutes, come embarrassing interruptions, visual aids or a semi-public venue. But today, his body didn’t seem to want to co-operate.

A few stalls away, his teammates were drying off, drifting away. Lockers banged in the next room, the crack and yelp of somebody snapping a wet towel, laughter. Chad stared down at his dick, feeling oddly betrayed. His erection wasn’t subsiding as the adrenaline ebbed, but it also wasn’t reaching its usual conclusion, either.

“You coming, Chad?” Troy’s voice was alarmingly close, and Chad nearly slipped and cracked his head open.

“Be there in a second,” he called back, and heard Troy snicker. 

Closing his eyes, Chad tried to concentrate. He so didn’t have time for this. He was going out for pizza with his friends, and probably a movie at somebody’s house. Maybe he could convince Ryan to split a plain cheese pie with him so he wouldn’t have to spend half the night picking olives off, and then there was Ryan in his head, grinning around a mouthful of pizza, and no, no, that was wrong –

Panicked, Chad pushed his mind to other things – to girls, smooth thighs and perky breasts and candy-flavoured mouths, and Ryan kissing him in the treehouse, dry and clumsy and terrifying. Ryan wanting him, and as much as Chad tried not to think about it, he knew Ryan probably did, thought about Chad doing exactly this, maybe touched himself like this thinking about Chad doing this – 

Chad bit his lip bloody as he came, gasping.

And that screwed everything up all over again, of course. Chad couldn’t even meet Ryan’s eyes that night at dinner, kept feeling his face get hot every time he tried. He ducked out early and headed straight home, determined to pull out his under-the-metaphorical-mattress stash to stop himself freaking out.

It took less than ten minutes at his computer with the ladies of Casa Erotica IV and his right hand to reassure Chad that, yes, he still liked girls, and breasts were pretty much the best things ever. Satisfied, he tumbled into sleep, had a very vivid dream about playing chess with Ryan in a pool, and woke up sticky and breathless.

This set a disturbing trend. Actually, it was vaguely ridiculous. Yeah, he still liked girls – it was coming into summer, there was so much skin this time of year, Chad loved girls. He loved the rounded tops of their breasts, the way their hips swayed when they walked, the shape of their legs in heels, the soft girlish smell of them.

But then there was Ryan, and more and more Chad found himself noticing: the way he ducked his head when he was embarrassed, exposing the soft skin at the nape of his neck. The delicate bones of his wrists and hands when he folded his sleeves back. The way his mouth twisted when he wanted to laugh, but wanted to stay mad at the same time. Stupid stuff like that, that didn’t mean anything, that shouldn’t have stuck in his mind so much and caused him so much stress.

Monday at school was excruciating. Chad found himself answering Ryan’s innocent attempts at conversation with monosyllables, and managed to look at him only once during the course of home room, just in time to see Ryan’s hurt expression as his friends turned away.

Shit.

~

“I don’t know what I did this time,” said Ryan, fidgeting nervously, “But whatever it is, I’m sorry. If I, you know, made you uncomfortable or whatever.”

“I think we should make out,” said Chad.

Ryan blinked. “Beg pardon?”

“No, really,” said Chad. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He took step closer, and watched colour bloom on Ryan’s cheeks. “I mean, you kissed me at my party. You like me, right?”

“I,” Ryan stuttered, his eyes wide. “But you, you’re not. You said.”

Chad shrugged, a little uncomfortable. “Yeah. Maybe.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, and they stared at one another. “So. You wanna?”

“Why?” said Ryan. “What the hell?”

“I just want to see what it’s like,” said Chad defensively. “If it’s, you know, different.”

“Ah. An experiment.” Ryan looked away.

Chad coughed. “Look, never mind, I didn’t-”

“Okay,” Ryan interrupted.

“Okay, we’ll forget it, or okay, take me now?” You could never be too careful about these things.

Ryan shot him a withering look. “I have never in my life said take me now and I’m not going to start today.” He paused, sniffed and adjusted his shirt. “But, yes. If you want.”

“Awesome,” said Chad gleefully, and then paused. “Are you sure?”

Ryan laughed, sounding slightly hysterical. “Oh, yeah. Who am I to stand in the way of science? You want to experiment, go ahead.” He spread his arms wide. 

“Hey,” said Chad, alarmed. “It’s not like that. I’m not – I wouldn’t use you.” He stepped forward and reached out, grabbing Ryan’s wrist.

“No, it’s fine,” said Ryan. “What are us pretty gay boys here for, if not for the clandestine whims of closeted jocks?”

“I am not closeted,” snapped Chad. “And I’m not – look, if you don’t want to, just say so.”

“But I do want to,” said Ryan tightly. “That’s the problem.” He pulled gently, and Chad realised he was still hanging on to Ryan’s wrist. “Come on, jock-boy. Let’s get your sexual identity crisis out of the way so I can go back to making fun of your sluttiness.”

Chad opened his mouth – to protest, to clarify, to keep on arguing – but Ryan kissed him then, fisted a hand in his shirt and brought their mouths together. It was clumsy – Chad was surprised, not expecting it, his mouth gaping open while Ryan’s was closed, Ryan’s body stiff and awkward.

Ryan pulled back after a moment. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.” His mouth was wet, and he wiped it on his sleeve, avoiding Chad’s gaze.

“Maybe,” said Chad. “Maybe not.” He tugged Ryan closer. “Just… a little – come here.” Running on instinct honed from years of charming reluctant or shy girls, he touched Ryan’s face, running his fingertips over the smooth skin of his cheek, his jaw. “Okay?”

Ryan nodded, and Chad kissed him again, slowly. This, he knew how to do, and it wasn’t so different – slow and coaxing, careful, soft flicks of his tongue until Ryan sighed and relaxed a little.

They kissed for a while, and Ryan pulled back with a wet noise. “Different enough for you?” he said, slurred.

“Need more data for comparison,” mumbled Chad, and pulled him down onto the couch. 

Ryan’s skin was hot to touch. Chad pushed him down onto the cushions and pressed his face against Ryan’s throat, set his teeth against his Adam’s apple, felt his pulse pounding steadily. He felt Ryan’s hands settle – one on the back of his neck, under his hair, the other tentatively at his waist, and smiled. Their mouths came together again, and Chad could feel Ryan’s uncertainty, the tension in his body, the shy way he kissed, like maybe he wasn’t entirely certain what he was doing.

The idea sent a thrill through him, and he pulled back a little, pressing his lips to the corner of Ryan’s mouth, his cheek. “Any conclusion?” said Ryan, fingers tangling in Chad’s hair.

“Sure,” said Chad, and shifted slightly so he could run his hand over Ryan’s flat chest. “Something’s missing.”

Ryan choked on his laughter, and – oh jesus – rolled his hips in a way Chad suspected wouldn’t be possible without all that fucking yoga. “Little further south,” Ryan breathed. “You’ll find what you’re looking for.”

Chad snorted. “Smooth, Evans.” He ducked his head and bit at Ryan’s jaw, letting his hands wander a little – at some point, Ryan’s shirt had come untucked and ridden up a little, and Chad put his hands there, on the narrow belt of smooth skin. He could feel the firm muscles, the sharp cut of his hips, and Ryan twitched violently.

“Ah – tickles,” he gasped.

Chad laughed again, and Ryan shoved at him, then daringly slid his hands lower, below the waistline of Chad’s jeans, thumbs hooking into the back pockets. He was looking up at Chad with the strangest expression, almost sad.

“Okay?” said Chad, and Ryan nodded, tilting his face up in invitation. Chad stayed teasingly just out of reach until Ryan growled softly, and then they were both laughing again, and Chad could feel the press of Ryan’s teeth when he kissed him again.

And that was the second, time, more or less, Ryan under him on the couch, shy kisses, and laughing, and it was different from with a girl. Awkward and fumbling, yes, but easier too, because it was Ryan, not some girl he wanted to impress or seduce. He could just kiss Ryan and like it, and not worry about “will she let me,” or “does she think.” 

It was nice.

~

The third time was actually at school, during the lunch period. And it was so stupid, because he bumped into Ryan in the lunch line and nearly made him drop his tray, but instead of looking annoyed, Ryan grinned, eyes sliding halfway closed and peering up at Chad from under his stupid lashes, and all Chad could see was the red mark on Ryan’s neck almost hidden by his collar. The next thing he knew they were in an abandoned science classroom and Ryan was complaining that the counter was digging into his back.

“Suck it up,” said Chad, licking the mark again.

Ryan mumbled something that might have been, “Oh, screw you,” and pinched his nipple through his t-shirt, which probably didn’t help the whole uncomfortable-countertop thing as Chad immediately pushed him further backwards in an enthusiastic attempt to lick Ryan’s tonsils.

They had history after lunch, but all Chad remembered from that particular lesson was the dazed, punch-drunk look on Ryan’s face, the way his fingers kept stealing to his collar.

That was three, which was beginning to present a worrying pattern, and wasn’t helping his distraction problem at all. He’d thought that just getting it out of his system would put an end to it – he’d thought about kissing Ryan, so he did, over and done with.

But no. He wanted to keep kissing Ryan, like, all the time. He still liked girls, he did, and nobody could possibly blame him for turning down Dianne Worthington. Rumour had it she’d slept with most of the Chess Club, which couldn’t possibly be hygienic, and besides, there was no way he could make dirty baseball jokes and get her to snort milk out her nose in front of a cafeteria full of people. Ryan had blushed for an hour after that.

Four was getting in Ryan’s shiny silver convertible after school and finding an out-of-the-way spot to park, at an abandoned picnic spot a few miles out of town. They put the roof up to keep out the sudden spring rain and crawled into the backseat.

Chad felt like he was dreaming, everything slow and sticky, Ryan’s face above him, nothing but the sound of the rain and their breathing. He ran a lazy hand through Ryan’s soft fair hair, over his bare shoulder, and wondered distantly when he’d taken his shirt off. Chad’s was gone too, somewhere down in the footwell, and that felt good, their naked skin touching. Ryan had a little hair on his belly, which tickled and scratched, and his shoulders were strong and surprisingly broad, and his legs were tangled up with Chad’s like a jigsaw puzzle and his kisses were drugging, slow and lazy and sweet. Chad had never been kissed like this, never had somebody hold him down and take his mouth – he’d always been the guy doing the kissing.

Ryan braced an arm beside Chad’s head and reached between them, letting his knuckles press down against the zipper of Chad’s jeans.

“Yes,” said Chad without meaning to. “Yes, yeah, do that, Ryan, I want, please.”

Ryan made strange, choked noise and brought his mouth down on Chad’s neck, ground the heel of his hand against Chad’s erection, and Chad surged up helplessly, grabbing at Ryan. He could come like this, he realised, Ryan’s hands and mouth and skin, and the thought should have worried him more than it did.

“Yeah?” said Ryan softly, and that was an out, that was a chance to say no.

“Fuck yes,” he hissed, and grabbed Ryan’s ass, pulling him so he straddled one of Chad’s thighs, rubbing hard against him.

“Oh, Christ,” said Ryan, and squeezed, and it turned out to be that easy. The breath left Chad’s lungs as he came, toes curling in his sneakers, his whole body tingling. He could feel Ryan moving over him, touching him, hot breath on his neck.

As the aftershocks ran through his limbs, he reached up, touched Ryan’s mouth, his cheek, and Ryan stiffened, shuddered, and was still.

Sounds came back – the rain, steady on the roof, Ryan’s breathing and his own. Ryan sprawled against his chest, warm and relaxed, and Chad rested his hands on the soft skin of his back and felt Ryan shift against him.

“Hey Chad,” said Ryan sleepily. “If you’re just doing this because you feel sorry for me or something, could you not tell me?” He rubbed his cheek against Chad’s shoulder. “That’d be good.”

Chad couldn’t think of any answer to that that didn’t make him feel slightly ill, so he traced the edges of Ryan shoulder blades and kept quiet.

~

An experiment, he’d told Ryan, and if he’d learned one thing from dating Taylor – aside from a complete history of feminism – it was how to conduct an experiment. You couldn’t just test one side of things. 

He’d pretty well established that he liked Ryan. He liked hanging out with him, kissing him, and apparently getting off in the backseat of his really awesome car with him.

What else?

He still liked girls. When Sharpay ‘accidentally’ dumped a giant slurpie all over Gabriella, Chad wasn’t the only one to appreciate the way the white material of her shirt went all clingy and see-through, though he was one of the few to get reamed out by Troy for checking out his girlfriend.

But did he like other guys? Chad struggled to answer this one. Ryan, yes, definitely, two thumbs up. But other guys?

He snuck looks in the locker room a few times. He knew that girls considered his team mates attractive, but he couldn’t understand it. They were guys, just like him, legs and arms and – other bits. He tried to imagine kissing Troy, or touching Zeke the way he did with Ryan, but his mind recoiled – no.

He might have despaired, had he not gone out for dinner with his family later in the week. Their waiter was young guy, slight and dark-haired. He looked not a thing like Ryan, but he was wearing eyeliner, and had a cute smile and halfway through the meal Chad realised that he was flirting with the waiter and had to excuse himself to the bathroom for a while.

Okay, so apparently he didn’t like all guys, but he didn’t like all girls, either. So he had some taste. One of those tastes was male. Good to know.

While he was busy with his experimenting, number five happened with Ryan, who tugged him into one of the music practice rooms before homeroom, pushed him against the wall, and went to his knees. Chad was a little disappointed later that it doesn’t last longer, but since he came thirty seconds after the door shut, he couldn’t really complain.

Ryan looked quite pleased with himself too, and didn’t even seem to mind that Chad didn’t return the favour, just slid his hand down the front of Ryan’s designer jeans and tried very hard to not panic and be grateful that Ryan was worked up enough to take no longer than Chad.

They were late to homeroom after their detour through the bathroom to clean up, and arrived flushed and breathing hard, sliding into their respective seats mumbling apologies. Chad could feel Troy’s stare on the back of his neck, could hear Sharpay hissing questions and accusations at Ryan, but couldn’t bring himself to care.

He wandered through his first classes in a happy post-yay-blowjob daze, and the world starts to intrude around free period practice, when he suddenly realised that their final game of the season was next week.

Shocked back to reality, he played hard and fierce for the rest of the practice, earning praise from coach and encouraging backslaps from the rest of the team, and in the locker room afterwards, Troy nudged him.

“Good to have you back, man.”

Chad frowned, puzzled. “I haven’t been anywhere.”

Troy only shrugged. “Yeah.” He went back to pulling his stuff out of his locker. “You’ve just been a little – off. For a while.” Troy gave him a tiny smile. 

“I’ve been a little distracted,” said Chad slowly.

Troy nodded. “Yeah, that’s cool. You’ve been hanging out with Ryan, haven’t you?”

Chad gave him a sharp look, but Troy was wide-eyed and guileless. “Yeah. He’s, um. He’s a good guy.” He grabbed his towel and turned to head to the showers, but Troy touched his shoulder.

“You know he’s kind of in love with you, right?”

Chad spun around. “Don’t say shit like that, Bolton, it’s not funny.”

Troy looked almost pathetically gentle. “Look, I wouldn’t have said anything, except everybody knows – apart from you, apparently – and he’s been following you around like a baby duckling and I don’t want anything to happen, because Sharpay would scratch your eyes out.”

Chad sat down on the bench, feeling sick. “What the hell do you mean, in love with me? That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. That’s stupider than you in a musical.”

“Me in a musical happened,” said Troy quietly. “And Ryan’s had a thing for you for ages. Since – I don’t know. A long time. But then you went and made friends with him.”

“Shit,” said Chad, and he could hear Ryan’s voice in his head saying If you’re just doing this because you feel sorry for me. He wanted to punch something – Ryan for not telling him, Troy for telling him now. Himself, for being so fucking stupid, because he was pretty sure he was going to hurt Ryan now.

“So, I don’t know,” Troy was saying. “Maybe you could, like, let him down gently or something. Start conspicuously dating girls.”

“It’s a little late for that,” Chad muttered, and because his luck was like that, Troy was actually paying attention for once.

“What do you mean?” Troy’s eyes went wide. “Has he said something?”

Chad shook his head. He wanted to crawl into his locker and hide under the three-months-old socks and last week’s lunch, because that would be better than this conversation. “No,” he muttered.

“Has he done something?” Troy asked, outrage sending his voice about three octaves skyward. “Did he – did he -” Lost for words, he sputtered.

“Oh my god,” said Chad. “You wouldn’t even care if it was a girl, but because it’s Ryan suddenly my virtue needs protecting?”

“Woah,” said Troy, backing off. “I’m just – I’m just trying to look out for you. Chill.”

“I don’t need you to look out for me,” said Chad. “I don’t need – Jesus, Troy, what’s your problem with Ryan?”

Troy looked away fast, but not fast enough. “I don’t have a problem. You know that. Ryan’s a great guy.”

“Ryan’s gay,” Chad snarled, low. “So suddenly he’s not allowed to do the shit you guys do, like check people out or get crushes or kiss anybody, because god forbid he makes you uncomfortable.”

“Chad,” said Troy, nervous, and Chad looked up to see a circle of faces, his team mates watching curiously.

“Fuck,” he said, and staggered out.

~

Jason found him in the back of the theatre. Onstage, rehearsals happened, and Chad didn’t think anybody noticed him lying on the floor behind the rows of seats, quietly panicking.

“Hey,” said Jason, and dropped a packet of Zeke’s ‘for emergencies’ cookies on his chest.

Chad wondered if he could escape under the rows of seats, but Jason didn’t try to talk to him. He just sat down, rested his back against the wall, and waited.

“Did I overreact?” Chad asked at length.

Jason shrugged. “Yeah. Unless.”

Chad sat up and looked at him sharply. “Unless what?”

“Unless you’re doing more than defending your friend.” Jason leaned over and took a cookie. “You were late to homeroom this morning.”

Chad glared. “You got something to say?”

Jason chewed on his cookie for a while. “Wow. These are good. I mean, stale, but good.”

“Jason.”

“My brother’s gay.”

Chad reeled back. “I’m not gay.”

“I didn’t say that,” said Jason patiently. “But my brother is. And when he told my dad, dad flipped out and kicked him out of the house.”

“Wait. Wait, in freshman year? I thought your dad kicked him out for doing drugs.”

Jason shook his head. “And then mom kicked dad out. And then there was the whole… thing.”

Chad winced in sympathy. His friends had held Jason together through his parents’ nasty, bitter divorce and custody battle. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I had to go see Ms Darbus this morning, about my detention. Over in the east corridor by the theatre.”

Near the empty music rooms. Christ.

Chad hid his face in his knees. “I’m not – it’s not.”

“Okay.” Chewing noises. “Does Ryan know that?”

“Do I know what?” Ryan stood over them, looking puzzled. 

Possibly, Chad thought, the theatre was not the best place for his Ryan-related panic attack.

~

Chad skipped the last two classes and went home straight after lunch, not having to fake illness. His mother took one look at his miserable face and sent him to bed.

Chad crawled under the covers and prayed to never come out. He wanted to die. He wanted to turn the clock back and re-do the whole conversation with Troy, very calmly, without losing his cool or giving anything away.

He wanted Ryan, which even he had to admit was pretty fucking gay.

He must have dozed, despite his racing thoughts, because the next thing he heard was a knock on the door. “Chad? Sweetie? You have a visitor.”

Before he could tell his mother he didn’t want to see anybody, the door opened and closed. The bed sank by his knees as someone sat.

“Interesting gossip around school today,” said Ryan lightly, putting a warm hand on his knee.

“Don’t tell me,” groaned Chad. “I really don’t want to know.”

“Apparently you punched Troy Bolton when he called me a fag.”

It could be worse. At least he didn’t…

“And then, you announced your undying love for me.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“I predict that by this time tomorrow we will be moving to Vermont after graduation and adopting a trio of adorable African babies.”

Chad tried to smother himself with a pillow. Ryan sighed and stretched out, lying down beside him. “You okay?”

“Yeah. No. I just – I got so mad. He was saying things.”  
Ryan looked vaguely alarmed. “Wait, Troy really did call me a fag?”

Chad pulled his head from under the pillow and looked straight at Ryan. “No. He said you were in love with me.”

Ryan blushed. “Oh. That.”

“Yes, that.”

“Why would that piss you off?”

“Because he was acting like you were going to infect me. Like I had to get rid of you in case you got your nasty gay cooties all over me.”

“Bit late for that,” said Ryan with a sly grin, and Chad rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, that’s what I told him.”

“Ah, the undying love part of the rumour.”

“Speaking of,” said Chad, and drew his thumb over Ryan’s cheekbone. Ryan’s eyelids fluttered shut.

“Aw, don’t, Chad,” he said, but didn’t try to move away.

“Apparently everybody knows you’re in love with me.”

“Well, everybody knows Sharpay is a natural blonde. Doesn’t make it true.”

“Stop changing the subject.”

“Stop distracting me, then,” complained Ryan, snapping his teeth at Chad’s hand. “And in answer to the question you haven’t asked yet, I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I’m eighteen, Chad. I’ve never had a boyfriend. I’ve kissed a total of three people, including you, and I’ve done more with you than anyone.” Chad stared, but Ryan’s voice was flat and matter-of-fact. “I could be in love with you, but I wouldn’t know how to tell. I wouldn’t know what to do about it if I was, because I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t feel the same.”

Chad put his hand over Ryan’s mouth to make him stop talking. There was a heavy, unpleasant feeling in his belly that he recognised as guilt. “I didn’t mean to – I didn’t want to lead you on.”

Ryan smiled and touched his tongue to Chad’s palm, pushed his hand away. “You never promised me anything.”

“I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay.”

He kissed Ryan then, because it wasn’t okay and he didn’t know how to make it better, how to make Ryan not love him or other people not hate him – them – because of it.

He pushed his blankets aside so Ryan could slip under. Ryan paused to kick off his shoes first, sliding between the sheets, and that was weird, having Ryan in his bed – not just on, but in it, curled up against Chad on the blue striped sheets he’d had since he was thirteen, with their knees knocking together because the bed wasn’t big enough for two.

“You look tired,” said Ryan softly, tracing the skin beneath his eyes.

“I’m bisexual,” said Chad.

Ryan raised an eyebrow. “No. Really?”

“Shut up,” said Chad. “It took me a while. I like girls.”

“So you’ve mentioned.”

“And I like you.”

“I’m flattered.”

“And some other boys, maybe.”

Ryan frowned at that. “Should I be jealous?”

“He had an eyebrow ring. And eyeliner.”

“I hate him already.”

Chad slipped his hands underneath Ryan’s shirt, laid them against his belly. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Ryan’s mouth curved into sweet shape, and Chad licked it, drawing a moan. He tugged at Ryan’s shirt until he got the hint and pulled it off, then set to work on the doubtless-expensive belt decorating Ryan’s fitted slacks.

“Chad – what are you-”

Chad ducked his head under the blankets and finally wrested the belt free. “I owe you one.”

“Chad, no, that’s not – fuck.” Chad finally got his pants open, and it figured that even Ryan’s underwear was of the highest quality, some soft, silky black material. There were still spots on it from their music-room adventure that morning, which seemed a ridiculously long time ago now.

Chad felt ridiculous with the blanket over his head, hiding him from the world, but he was glad for it as well. He hooked his fingers under the waistband of Ryan’s underwear, Ryan obligingly lifted his hips, and Chad pulled them down, pants and boxers together.

Ryan groaned when Chad touched him, and from this close he could see the desperate twitch of his hips, the slight tremble of his thighs. He stroked Ryan’s belly soothingly, and took a breath to steel himself.

It didn’t taste like much. Maybe a little salty. Far above him, Ryan made a broken noise, quickly muffled. Chad suspected he was stuffing the pillow in his mouth. He licked again, the tip of his tongue lapping curiously around the head, and the noises became strangled.

Sucking on the head made Ryan’s whole body twist, and the sounds from behind the pillow resembled a choked-off scream. Chad pulled off, to a moan of distress, and threw back the blankets. “Calm down, princess. It’s a blowjob, not the second coming.” Not even a particularly good blowjob, Chad thought to himself.

“Don’t stop,” said Ryan, frantically, and Chad laughed and bent his head. He didn’t try anything fancy, nothing like he’d seen in porn. Just wrapped his hand around the base and licked all over, sucked on the head, and pulled away quickly when Ryan pushed his forehead with a muffled warning.

The last time, he hadn’t really been in any state to watch Ryan, but now Chad could drink in the way the flush spread down his neck and chest, his thighs fell open wantonly, his hands clenched and toes curled. And his face, the open, joyful ecstasy in his expression, deepening to a kind of bliss as his breathing began to slow.

He leaned over to get some Kleenex from the nightstand, and was surprised when Ryan touched his face. “Thank you. That was awesome.”

“Not bad for a novice,” Chad replied, and Ryan snorted.

“Come on, I want to,” he didn’t finish, but his hand settled at Chad’s waist and his eyes dropped coyly.

“I won’t last,” Chad warned, and pulled his shirt off. “Not after -”

And he didn’t, not with Ryan’s hungry eyes and warm, clever hands and sly smile. He came with his pants around his ankles and Ryan’s hand on his dick, and Ryan’s other hand over his mouth to keep him quiet.

Afterwards, he curled himself around Ryan and they watched the shadows made by the setting sun on the wall opposite the window.

“I have to get home,” said Ryan when it was almost entirely dark.

“Stay for dinner.”

“You want me to go downstairs and have dinner with your parents when we’ve just had sex?”

“Well, when you put it that way. Does this count as sex?” He pulled Ryan closer to his chest, unwilling to let go.

“This? No, this is cuddling. Any way I can get out of here without your mother psychically divining how I’ve corrupted you?”

“Out the window’s easiest.” He hung on a little longer as Ryan wriggled free, swatting his hands away. 

“Clingy bastard. Have you got one of my socks in there somewhere?”

Between them they got their clothes sorted out, and Chad showed Ryan how he could climb out the window, across the trellis, and swing down onto the lawn in front of the laundry.

“So, I’ll see you at school tomorrow?” said Ryan, perched on the windowsill.

Chad nodded, gloom returning at the thought of figuring this all out. “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” he confessed.

Ryan pulled his hair very gently. “It’ll be okay,” he said.

“Really?”

“I have no idea. But,” he took Chad’s face between his hands and kissed him almost chastely; “I will see you tomorrow.”

Chad watched Ryan make his way nimbly down the trellis, drop onto the lawn. He waved, and Chad waved back, and then he was gone, sneaking around the side of the house. He stood until he heard the rumble-purr of an engine that cost more than most people’s houses.

Chad went back to bed, and sat against the headboard with his pillow across his knees, staring at the tangled sheets, and until his mother’s voice broke him from his reverie.

He sighed, put on a sweater against the evening chill, and went downstairs for dinner.


End file.
